“All those years, I thought he chose everybody else over us.”
Noah sat beside him.
“Maybe he didn’t know how to come back.”
Aaron looked at the glove.
“That’s not the same as trying.”
“No,” Noah said. “But maybe this was him admitting it.”
Aaron slowly nodded.
Saturday Three belonged to Noah.
The note contained only four words:
My house. Porch chair.
We crossed the street and entered Mr. Vance’s empty home.
Noah sat in the familiar wooden chair.
Nothing happened.
Then I suggested he check underneath.
Taped beneath the seat was a small black notebook.
